


Babel

by MarisFerasi



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Breaking down walls, F/M, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Pre-Androids, Those Three Years, What Have I Done, coming together, several lemons, some OOC i think...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarisFerasi/pseuds/MarisFerasi
Summary: *title from song by Mumford and Sons, because the lyrics make sense here"Those three years" trope. because i have voraciously read everything out there and am still not  satisfied.also, i cant believe i'm even into DBZ, it's my husbands fault, and i will now love Vegeta forever. fml.Permanent dislaimer: i do not own or make money from these characters, i just love the ship. please support the official product.





	1. Getting to Know You

Vegeta’s eye twitched rhythmically as he waited, forever impatient. He’d been in the midst of his training, dodging ki blasts from the hovering bots around him. When he fired his own out of irritation, it had swiftly caused a chain reaction, bouncing from one bot to the next until they were all crumpled on the floor in a heap.

The worst part was that it hadn’t stopped there. It had made its final destination the control panel, frying the gravity controls and sucking the Saiyan prince sky-high to the ceiling and then dropping him down to the unforgiving metal floor below. He’d been training in 400x gravity, ki flexing hard to keep himself aloft, airborne, and when the G-force snapped off, his energy hadn’t reacted quickly enough. His head was still smarting from the blow to the ceiling he took at full-force.

Thus, Bulma was knelt in front of him on all fours, head inside the wall under the control panel, trying to salvage the thing for him. She had been grumbling complaints ever since he’d retrieved her from her lounge chair in the courtyard, but was now fairly silent, focused, which the Saiyan appreciated above all else.

“Well, sorry Vegeta but you really did a number here. I’m gonna have to order new parts, it will be a few days before I can get it back in working order. The bots I can do tomorrow, but not the grav controls," she shifted back so her bum was on her ankles, pushing the door to the control panel back in place. Vegeta grit his teeth and growled low.

“Not good enough, woman, I _need_ the gravity adjustments restored!” he clenched his fists and roared, seeing his chance at achieving Super Saiyan levels slipping between his fingers.

“Then _you_ shouldn’t have blasted it, should you?” she fired back, standing. “You’re just going to have to wait, or try something else for a while. Without damaging anything, got it?!” she shook a finger at him and gathered her toolbox, leaving Capsule 3 in a huff. Vegeta grumbled after her retreating back, following several paces behind.

He might as well eat now that he was clearly done training for the day.

They walked separately into the vast kitchen, going opposite directions. She went toward the hall where their row of rooms were, he straight to the pantry, digging out tin cans of ready-to-eat meals that they called “pasta” with a fat little man in a puffy white hat on the paper label. It was rather unsatisfying but gave him the sustenance he required until an actual meal had been prepared by Bunny later.

After banging around with her supplies for several minutes, and changing out of her work clothes and into lounge-wear, Bulma came back into the kitchen, searching for a snack herself in peaceable silence with the prince. She knew that her incessant talking got on her houseguest’s nerves more than anything, and he’d just lost his main way to train. She didn’t want to chase him out by bothering him further.

Vegeta ripped open the cans easily, digging in and swallowing the mushy stuff without tasting it much. He was on his fifth can by the time Bulma came over with two glasses of juice and a package of cookies. Standing a few feet away, she passed him one of the glasses and set the open package between them, a fairly universal peace offering. He watched, predatory, as she took and ate three cookies before he reached for himself a handful, stuffing them in his face three and four at a time. She tried not to laugh, but snorted despite herself, catching his attention.

Predictably, his ever-present scowl deepened. “What, woman? Are we not… _sharing_?” Bulma laughed and nodded.

“Uh, yes, surprisingly. You’ll eat almost anything, sometimes it surprises me how little you seem to even look at your food. Is it not…well, _alien_ to you?” she was genuinely curious, knowing nothing about his culture (or rather the lifestyle that had been impressed upon him in Freeza’s army) or tastes aside from fighting, being rude, and making everyone largely uncomfortable. He snorted and ate another handful of cookies, mulling over an answer.

“In Freeza’s service, we were given basic, tasteless rations. Saiyans eat much more than your average…being. It’s nice to be able to eat whatever I see. There’s always more, here.” He shrugged, swilling down the juice and going for more. Bulma was shocked to watch as he turned and filled up her glass as well before he put the jug back in the fridge. He came back and finished off the package of cookies, handing her one more before shoveling the rest in his mouth.

As he moved to pile his empty cans and the pack of cookies to the trash, Bulma realized that she’d never, in the last year that he’d been living here, actually watched the man eat. He generally stayed in Capsule 3 until well after dark, eating the leftovers alone in the kitchen after they’d all settled in for the night. He stayed largely solitary, unless he needed something or a machine broke, like today. She’d even gone as far as to assume that he was a slob, leaving trash around in his princely, not-my-job way. But he wasn’t. Here he was, in someone else’s house, keeping his footprint minimal, throwing away his waste with a fastidiousness previously unseen by her. It bothered her that she’d assumed something negative about a person that had never really bothered her individually.

It was true that Bulma knew next to nothing about him, other than what he’d told everyone publicly, or that had come out in battle with Goku, or in the chaos on Namek. She knew that he was the last of a royal line, leader of a near-extinct race of fierce warriors which had been laid to waste by the genocidal maniac Freeza. She knew that he was now alone in the galaxy; that he, once a very literal prince living in finery, in a castle, far off in space, was now penniless, homeless, and dependent on the very race he’d sworn to help exterminate.

“Talk to me,” she asked, quietly. Unassuming. Vegeta looked over his shoulder at her in slight surprise, before his trademark frown slid back into place.

“I have nothing to say to you, or any of your kind, other than to help me train and stay out of my way. I’ll keep my word, and help rid you of the androids, if only to—”

“Shut _up_ ,” she groaned, rubbing the heels of her palms into her eyes, leaning on the counter with more pressure. If she had to hear that speech one more time, she’d scream.  “Tell me something I haven’t heard a thousand times this week, geez.”

Affronted, Vegeta seemed like he was about to simply leave the room in a huff. Instead, he growled under his breath and motioned for her to follow him out onto the back balcony to sit in the open air of the cool evening.   

Vegeta swung his legs over the low cement wall and sat, letting his feet dangle toward the ground twenty feet below, his face to the cloudless, dusky sky above them. He seemed to be mulling it over, so she showed a relatively uncharacteristic amount of patience and waited him out.

“I will answer _two_ questions, tonight,” he murmured, feeling generous. She was, after all, the only reason he wasn’t half-starving in a cave in the wilderness. Also, she gave him access to her gravity room for training. He could choke his way through two questions before hiding until dinner. He held up two fingers, imperious, and turned back to shoot her a “serious” glare before once again facing outward.

Surprised, Bulma blurted out her first question without thinking if it was necessarily a worthy one. “What was it like, being raised by him?” she watched his jaw clench and flex several times before he answered, still glaring up at the rising moon. 

“You can’t _possibly_ imagine the desolation,” he murmured, his face darkening perceptibly. “Losing your entire race, family, hell… your entire _planet_ in a matter of moments. My father had caught wind of the suspected attack and moved me off-planet just before it was obliterated. But freeza came for me just the same. At first, I was a prisoner, being kept alive for sport, a bait dog for the ring. I was barely seven when my father agreed to hand me over to Freeza as a ploy for peace. It was, of course, utterly useless. As soon as the deal was made he made his move on Vegetasai. They kept me weak and chained, in the bowels of his ship for _years_ until he’d seemingly rooted out and either killed or assimilated what was left of my people, across the galaxies.  After it was determined that I wouldn’t—or _couldn’t--_ run, he had me conscripted into his ranks. I was told I had to be the “face” of my ranks, for what was left of my people, so they’d fight. And in answer, I shoved my nose into the roughest training, willing myself to get strong enough to fire back one day. Like I said, they starved us, probably intentionally, knowing that if the few Saiyans in the ranks rose against them, we’d probably win. Those like Nappa, happy to work as mercenary for a few credits for booze and a cheap fuck wherever we’d landed were useless to me. But he’d been my guard as a boy, so I kept close to him. He was a brainless oaf, but he rarely lied to me. Eventually my power level was high enough that I went on to the Trials, where I became a leader of sorts to a small band of mixed beings, ordered to destroy planets. I became a right-hand, of sorts; at least in the way of servanthood. But, because of my Saiyan blood, every time Freeza beat me to within an inch of death, I gained strength in the healing tanks. I always came out stronger, until he actually had to break a sweat to put me down. Then I could be truly proud, for a short time.” He went quiet for several minutes, deciding on his next answer. Bulma waited, rapt. She’d never heard him talk this much at once, even in battle (where he loved to taunt and talk about himself, as always. He cleared his throat and began again: “The genocide was probably the worst part, realizing that I was out doing the same thing he’d done to my people, in his name, for nothing more than his whim, annihilating whole worlds because he didn’t see any use in them. After I’d learned the depth of his deceit to my people, I swore to myself that I’d root out any possible way to grow strong enough to beat him, and blast him into ash as soon as possible. That…is what drove me here, and then to Namek, to seek out the Dragon Balls, to become immortal and kill him before he could do it himself. If he’d managed to gain immortality, there wouldn’t be anything standing in his way of evaporating the entire known universe.” Bulma looked at his naked torso for the first time, really seeing the brutal mapping of scar-work weaving through the divots of muscle lining his body. He’d known pain, quite a lot of it. It was no excuse for how awful he generally acted, but it gave her some insight into why he did it.

Aside from the whole "he's a prince, he's _supposed_ to act like that" excuse she usually wrote off for him.

“Next,” he sighed, stretching his back until it popped and glancing over his shoulder. Bunny had just come into the kitchen and started banging around, getting supplies out for dinner. He could smell meat frying and his stomach rumbled appreciatively.

“Why do you talk to me? Why am I the only one that you don’t always try to kill?” he laughed then, a sort of low bark, before answering.

“Woman, you are the only thing that’s weaker than me that fights back! And I can’t even _touch_ you without causing damage. Everything is verbal, mental. Kakarot, the brainless idiot, gives me a reason to get stronger, especially now that Freeza is dead. I hate that he’s more powerful than me, I hate it perhaps as much if not more than I hated that damned ice lizard. I should be the strongest, period.

“But _you_ , completely weak, hapless, _pathetic_ you, are a gem. I can only rail against you verbally. And you never back down!” he scoffs, thinking it absurd that she hasn’t put this together yet.   Looking back at her, it’s obvious that he’s caught her off guard. “You may be the only thing on this planet, or even the known galaxy, that contents with me mentally. It’s important, having both. A bored Saiyan… is a dangerous Saiyan.”    

Though Bulma was touched by the admission, and relatively astounded, she knew backing down wasn’t an option. Not if she wanted him to keep talking; she desperately does. “Well, sorry I’m so _soft_ , King Kong.” She crosses her arms when he huffs a laugh. “Don’t mistake my lack of physical prowess for a weakness, I’ll build a way to put you down if I have to!” But instead of goading a rise out of him like she expected, she watched as the side of his face that she could see lifted in his usual sardonic smirk.

“Woman, you are the only soft thing in my life, and you give me everything. Why would I take advantage of that, chase it away?” By now, he’s swiveling to get off the low wall, sniffing after dinner being prepared behind them. “I may be used to a much harder lifestyle by now, but I am a prince and still expect the best. Why throw away the offer if someone is giving it freely?” He approaches, slow and leonine, fists hanging loose at his sides. She can practically hear his stomach growling from here, despite their earlier snack, but does not move to let him pass, her face a picture of awe and calculation, processing all the new information about her peculiar houseguest through narrowed eyes. His handsome face stretches into a laugh and he’s sliding between her shoulder and the door frame, closing the conversation. He’ll be closed off now for days, she thinks, unhappy but understanding.

Though, if she lets her fingers stretch to pass fleetingly over his wrist as he moves by her, neither of them mentions it.   


	2. Happy Birthday, Bulma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta gives Bulma a few birthday surprises  
> **gratuitous smut

Ch2:

 

For the next three weeks, Bulma and Vegeta were like flirtatious satellites, always near the Capsule Corp campus but never more than passing one another. Each began wondering if it was a practiced avoidance by the other, but in reality, they were simply both focused on their separate goal for a time.

The next time they fully met, it was again in the courtyard, Bulma’s birthday party in full swing. She was already inebriated, laid out on a folding chair near the pool as the sun was setting; a few Z Fighters had come and were comfortably invading her kitchen several yards away, being loud and scrounging for drunk foods.

Vegeta walked out of Capsule 3 and slung a sweat-heavy towel over his shoulder, eager for a dip in the pool after his latest 17- hour workout. His muscles were trembling and sore, so much so that it was uncomfortable to swing his arms with his gait. As he approached, he noticed his host, alone, sprawled on her chair by the pool, half-asleep and smiling like a lunatic.  She was slow to respond as he came closer, barely noticing him even when he was less than ten feet away. He slung his towel down on an empty chair and grunted, toeing off his trainers and socks.

“Woman, are you dead?” he asked facetiously. He could sense her ki flickering low in her drunken state, barely conscious. Vegeta rolled his eyes and went to the edge of the pool, sitting to stick his feet in first. It was balmy on such a humid and hot summer night like this, the temperature of the water a nice, calm salve to his overworked senses.  Belated, Bulma snorted behind him in answer.

“No, jerk, I’m drunk. I am nearly asleep, though. You didn’t come to my party,” she said with a frown, trying to sit up and failing. Vegeta watched in mild disgust as she fought to roll to her side and pushed herself upright with a shaking arm. _She really needed to go to bed,_ he thought.

“I don’t believe I was invited, not that I’d be eager to be glared at all evening by your _friends_ anyway. And I don’t drink,” he replied, letting his body slip beneath the surface of the water. Slowly, he paddled around, letting his muscles loosen under the listless buoyancy of hydrotherapy. Last, he dipped his head, surfacing after a moment to hear Bulma complaining lazily.

“You _live_ here, Vegeta, of course you were invited! I shouldn’t have to hunt you down and tell you to come to something happening right under your nose. And I’m not rude enough to tell you to fuck off if you had shown up, _even_ if I didn’t want you there. Which I _did_ , by the way,” she harrumphed and crossed her arms, making him snort a laugh. “It’s not like it’s over yet, but people are starting to eat, so it might quiet down, soon once their drunk belies get full they’ll get sleepy and leave. You could hang out a while, if you wanted? Besides, for my birthday I wish for two more answers to my questions!” Vegeta stared at her from the surface of the water, silent, before his eyes travelled to the door to the kitchen and narrowed at the ruckus flowing from within. Bulma, though drunk, still had her faculties about her and smiled, knowing. “If they come out here I’ll tell them to fuck off. And if they don’t we can go up to my balcony, ok?”

“Fine,” the prince muttered, reaching out for two pool noodles as they drifted by. Once they were secured under his shoulders and knees, he nodded to Bulma, indicating that she could begin.

“What was your favorite thing to do growing up?” she asked; Vegeta snorted and opened his mouth, but she cut him off—“If you say training or fighting I swear to kami I’ll drown you!” Vegeta eyed her sarcastically and floated toward her, gripping the ledge of the pool by her feet.

“First of all, you are in no state to do anything to me. You’d just as likely drown _yourself_. And Second, my favorite thing to do…” he trailed off in thought… “Was probably taking over a planet, just before we had to destroy it. I learned _so much_ from so many beings across several galaxies. If it can’t be fighting, it was that. Adding to my already considerable knowledge. Learning languages, shapes and types of beings, their fighting styles, their cultures and technologies. It was about the most interesting thing I was allowed to do. Not that Freeza ever used any of the information; he never thought it would be necessary to know the enemy, as long as you could simply overpower it. And as soon as I learned it, they were obliterated. But it was eye opening, I suppose.”

Bulma’s eyes were huge as she filed this new information away. _Of course_ he’d be interested in knowledge, he was one of the smartest fighters she’d ever met. He himself had told her that she was one of the smartest people he knew, and that she could contend easily with himself. He valued knowledge, and was always sin the background, taking in more information than he put out.  He’d been quietly living there for a year now; how much information had he gathered on _her_?

It was hard not to notice his attention some days. His eyes on her had a certain draw that she rarely felt when she garnered attention from men elsewhere. There was a certain burning energy in his gaze, making her both proud to have caught his attention, and simultaneously unnerved at his unwavering, unrepentant black stare.  For a while now, she’d wondered what promises lay behind those eyes, and what pleasures his hands and body could wring from her own.

Before she lost the nerve to ask, she blurted “And, uh. Did you manage to learn quite a bit about the _women_ of these planets you visited?” Bulma flushed a bright red when his eyes widened, a bit shocked at her sudden line of questioning. Hell, of worse came to worse, she could blame it on the liquor, right? Only now, she wasn’t feeling so drunk, so it came off like more of a dirty proposition than anything.

“I, uh…is that your second question, then?” he coughed, letting go of the edge of the pool and drifting away a few feet. Bulma couldn’t trust her stupid mouth, so she bit her lips closed and nodded. Vegeta shook his head in disbelief and muttered something like “ _vulgar woman”_ under his breath before speaking up. “I suppose you could say that I learned a few more elaborate _techniques_ in my travels, yes. I came upon a race once whose males lacked stiffening tissue in their penises. The men came as soon as they were inside the female. In repayment, they had to get the women off solely through oral activity. That was an interesting place, if very… _enlightening_.” By now, he had lowered himself into the cooling water, pool noodles abandoned, and was staring up at her, shark-like with his drying hair sticking up out of the surface of the water like a dorsal fin, watching the hitch of her breath in her reaction. Smiling, predatory, Vegeta pushed himself out of the water and advanced to her chair, sitting on the end, near her ankles.

“Is that so?” she asked, stammering, flushing brighter than before. Vegeta could hear her heart beat hammering in her throat, arousal and fear both mixing in her blood.

He hummed noncommittally in answer, leaning forward slowly, determined to back off if she seemed put off by his advancements. But she didn’t move away at all, other than to straighten herself on the chair and thus, half-under his looming torso as he scooted up the chair until they were face-to-face. He’d been ignoring his attraction to the ‘gorgeous woman’ from Namek for several months now, but if she was interested, he was going to let her know the offer was there.

After all, what was a little de-stressing between the sheets other than a fantastic way to get a good night’s sleep after a day-long training session? As far as he was convinced, she was the only worthy candidate this measly planet had to offer for that purpose.

“So, it would seem that I owe you a birthday gift, yes?” Bulma’s breath quickened, her thighs loosening as she thought about that beautiful face between them, her fingers buried in that tuft of flame-swept hair. “After all, answering questions hardly justifies a present.” She nodded once and watched his smirk etch deeper into the lines of his face. “Open your mouth,” he growled, igniting a fire low in her belly. Bulma stared at his lips, hovering mere inches from her own, and every worry she had over this affair—him living with her, proximity awkwardness afterward, his tendency to be both difficult and territorial,-- _everything_ , went directly out the window, as she poked the tip of her tongue out to moisten her lips, opened her mouth, and watched him push the last inch forward.

Partying friends forgotten, Bulma’s ears fizzled into white noise as she was kissed ravenously, until she had to pull back for air. Vegeta’s mouth was shockingly plush and pliant, lips nibbling at her fuller bottom lip; teeth scraping at the upper, tongues tangling in a veritable wash of friction that left her panting within a minute. She felt her womanhood dampen, a scent that Vegeta was sure to pick up on, if he hadn’t already (he _had_ ). As she drew back to catch a breath and turn her head, moving back in, he shifted to between her thighs so he was nearly on top of her, balanced on one hip, his arms braced on either side of her ribs. Her hands slid up into his hair, tugging him back down for more, even as one of her own calves slid around his own.

She was intoxicated (in more ways than one) as he moved lower, letting her breathe freely, nibbling at lapping in turns at her throat and clavicles. He rubbed his face there, rather like a large cat, she thought hysterically, before the pressure of his thumbs at her hip bones made her gasp and rock her hips down. He huffed a soft laugh and brought his face back to her, tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth, rocking his pelvis into hers, suggestively.

The next time she moaned, there was a laugh on the tail end, making him pull back and look into her face, curious. At his furrowed brow, she laughed a bit louder, one hand drifting from his hair to his bare chest, fingers trailing over the soft, scarred, hard skin there. Her bright eyes followed her fingers, drunkenly distracted, before falling to her own (loudly complaining) stomach.

“I’m starving, can we eat first?” she asked, trying not to burst into laughter again as her stomach protested loudly. Vegeta scowled, but recalled his own hunger. He could stand a meal before he dined on her, certainly. After a day of exertion, he was always ready to eat.      

“Very well, but seeing as you can barely stand, _I_ will gather the food and we will go to my room. Yours still likely stinks of that weakling human. I’ll not lay with you in a bed that reeks of another male.” He eyes her harshly, willing a response. She rolled her eyes and batted at his shoulder, giving in, but Vegeta’s eyes flashed with something sinister as he stood and grabber her around the waist, easily throwing her over his shoulder like a potato sack and striding into the kitchen.  She squawked and kicked ineffectually, before simply letting him go on. If she made a scene, the Z Fighters would try to step in, and she wanted Vegeta to throw her in a bed and ravish her as soon as possible. No need to get him flustered and punchy first. Later, she could play territory games like that (and oh kami wouldn’t that be entertaining), but not this time!

Luckily enough, the kitchen was devoid of anyone when they entered, everyone having moved to the adjacent living room while their frozen pizzas baked off. Vegeta made for the pantry and stacked several boxes of cookies, cans of pastas, and a packet of buns on top of each other. He laid them on the island and clamped a bag of chips in his teeth, turning to the fridge and digging out three packed meals of leftovers that Bunny had been making for him for his late evenings. Stacking everything into a tall tower, he tucked his chin on top, shifted Bulma on his shoulder (who had, thoughtfully, managed to grab two forks from the drawer when he was close enough) with a grunt, and turned to head toward his bedroom when he stopped dead. Bulma felt him start vibrating almost instantly, on guard, and tried to turn to see who he was standing off with, behind her arse.

Yamcha and Krillin were standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living area, staring, mouths open, at the scene before them: Vegeta, arms full of food, bag of chips in his bared teeth, and Bulma, dangling over his shoulder like he’d hunted and bagged her out in the yard, ready to take her as his next conquest. 

“Uh, Bulma?” Krillin asked, making sure she was both conscious and okay. None of them had any reason to trust the Saiyan prince, after all.

“Hey, you can’t just make off with her like that!” Yamcha clenched his hand into a fist and stepped forward, ready to punch the sore, exhausted Saiyan if he needed to. Vegeta’s hand tightened on Bulma’s thigh and he growled, tensing, but Bulma spoke up.

“Boys, I’m fine. He’s just getting me food and taking me to bed. Back off,” she sighed. She really hadn’t planned on having a showdown tonight. “Don’t make a scene, go back to the party. Please?” She felt the shoulder muscles below her stomach ease slightly, a sign that the other two men had tentatively backed down.

“O-Okay, Bulma, if you’re sure?”

“ _Yes_ , Krillin, thank you.” Bulma, tired of this shit show, stretched and slapped Vegeta on the arse playfully, making him jump and grunt, teeth still clenched around the bag of Doritos. It worked, to her glee, he walked forward, leveling a dark scowl on the two other men, who let them pass. Behind Vegeta’s back, Bulma gave them both a wink and a thumbs up, letting them know she was not only aware, but totally consenting to Vegeta’s man-handling.

Vegeta let go of her legs long enough to open his bedroom door and close it, before depositing her on her feet. She wordlessly took half the food and went wobbily to the bed, shoveling chips and canned pasta in her mouth in turns. Vegeta watched her for a second, concerned; he’d never seen her so ravenous, it was almost…Saiyan-like. He chuckled and copied her, folding up on the other side of his bed and eating what she left behind, which still turned out to be quite a lot.

Satisfied, Vegeta pushed the empty cartons into his trash can and turned back to the woman, stretched out next to him, on _his_ bed.  He rolled back to her, straddling one thigh while she stretched back in to his pillow, hands already coming up to trace at his collar bones, up his neck and into his hair. Her gentle, questing touch caused his eyes to close with a quiet sigh, drinking in the peace of the night.

“I’m sweaty, should I shower first?” he asked, remembering himself. Surely he stank? He pulled back slightly, ready for her to agree, but her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging his face to her own. He went easily, ready to feel her beneath himself, again.

“Absolutely not. How about _we_ shower, after?” with a deep smirk, he pressed forward; their lips met in a pressing duel of slippery tongue and teeth. Vegeta’s hands roamed from her neck and side down, gliding over breast and smooth, soft, flat belly until he gripped her hips once more, thumbs pressing in until she bucked back at him, gasping into his mouth. “Alright, Vegeta, clothes off, _NOW_!” she cried out, trying to reach her own top, but he was faster, literally tearing her clothes from her body in a twist of his wrist, skirt fluttering to the floor next, panties following in a shred right after. Without thinking, Bulma punched the meat of Vegeta’s shoulder, a flash of anger at seeing her favorite outfit shredded! “UGH! You didn’t have to _destroy_ them!” He barely noticed the strike but frowned at her screeching, sliding his own shorts off and kicking them down to join her rags.

“You have more, woman.” The prince reattaches his mouth to her throat, licking with pressure over her carotid, hands sliding around her hips to cup her arse and squeeze, separating her cheeks and rubbing his own hips down to meet hers. He rubs his face over her breasts, suckling sharply at one shell-pink tip and then this other before rubbing again, cheeks dragging through his own saliva trails— _he’s marking me, like a cat,_ she thinks—making his way down to her belly, lapping into her bellybutton briefly and then further down, inhaling sharply at her thin strip of downy- blue pubic hair. And suddenly, she doesn’t have a care enough to rail against him. She _does_ have more clothes, and she can buy that whole damn outfit again if she wants to. What’s currently between her spread thighs is a bit more rare. A bit more _important_ , tonight at least.

Before she can open her mouth, he shakes his head against her mound, gently separating the outer lips of her pussy with his mouth, his tongue snaking out to lick a flat, wet stripe over her clit. Instantly, her wires are cut, thighs falling open, arms shuddering to reach for his hands at her waist. Her hips gyrate, trying to seek out his mouth for more. With a smirk, he quickly pins her hips at an angle, reducing her ability to writhe.

But, tonight he’s lenient, and works his mouth back down onto her, tongue lapping at her, flat like he’s licking at the drips down the side of an ice lolly. Her fingers drift back to his scalp, scratching and tugging in turn as her gasps and moans grow louder and more desperate. Her hips are fighting against his strong grip now, trying for _more_. Of anything!

Grunting, Vegeta moves his face away and she cries out _No!_ But with a knowing smirk, he releases one hand from her waist and moves it down, sucking two fingers into his mouth to wet them. Bulma watches, rapt, ready for it.

“Yes, please! Oh, Vegeta,” she throws her head back and gasps, hands twisting in the sheets at her side when he sinks two thick fingers into her swollen pussy. Without warning, his head dips back down and he’s back at it, suckling at her clit, licking the puffy flesh around it in turn. Bulma goes wild, legs tensing as she writhes, the sweet release coiling low in her belly.  Vegeta gets up onto his knees then, changing the angle within her, and rotates his wrist, fingertips zeroing in on that sweet spot deep within her. He roughly slams into it over and over, one hand flat on her mound, thumb drifting down to brush rough over her clit, and she’s screaming, body quivering as her hips buck him nearly off. But he’s much stronger, and remains in place, letting her insides clamp rhythmically around his fingers, eager to feel that himself.

His erection, largely ignored up until now, is weeping, slapping his taut belly, demanding the same release. But that’s not what she asked for, so he waits. Soon her eyes clear, and he retracts his touch, watching as she catches her breath and looks down, hand reaching for him.

“Now you,” she breathes, still panting. She curls a hand around him, and he grits his teeth, drowning in want.  “Vegeta,” she says. “Fuck me, like a Saiyan.” His eyes bulge in disbelief.

“I…I could break you so easily!” she must be crazy!

“I know, but you won’t. Bruises, ok. Broken bones, not ok. Fuck me, Vegeta. Like you mean it.” She rolls to her belly and moves back onto her knees, ready to let him rut into her like a beast, but he wants to _see_.

Taking her hip, he pushes her back onto her back, moving over her, pressing their bare chests together. The sweet drag of his hard muscles over the tender half-moons beneath her tits has her in awe; she’s never slept with a man this fit, this chiseled, and it’s fascinating. Her hands come up to roam over the cuts of his shoulders and back, fingers finding the difference between scar and muscle. He moves against her languidly, pushing up just enough to slide his wet tip against her entrance, and she looks down.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, his cock befits his stature. His body’s rather petite, but thick and veiny, nearly ridged in definition.  His cock is the same, average length but fat and ringed in thick, pulsing veins; she simply can’t wait for it to slide in, a whirlwind of friction and demanding pounding from her super-powered new lover.

Mouth agape, both in awe and desperation, she slides a hand down and eases his tip into herself, using her own thighs and hips to press him into her fully with a groan. Vegeta’s head sinks to the pillow next to hers, a deep growl reverberating in his chest that she feels echo in her own ribs. He pauses for a moment, fully sheathed within her, to mouth at her neck and throat, taking an earlobe in his teeth, before sliding his hip smoothly back, dragging out the exit until her breath goes with it.  Moving up to brace his weight on his forearms, Vegeta’s eyes link with her own as he silently asks _is this still what you want?_ And when she nods, his hips snap forward, setting a punishing, bruising pace that she can hardly keep up with; but dammit, she’s trying.  

Soon she’s snaking a hand between them, heading to get herself off once more with this fat cock stretching her so beautifully, hitting every weak spot she has with every pass. But the prince is faster, rearing back onto his knees, swatting her hand away as he changes the angle of their hips, hiking her knees up to his shoulders and licking his thumb, intent on dragging out another orgasm from her supple body. He presses his thumb to her clit, letting the pummeling of his hips into hers create the friction for them.

Bulma’s howling, fingers reaching for him, falling back to the sheets, over his powerful thighs, before she feels herself tip over again, clamping down around the punishing invasion of his cock within her tight channel. As soon as she’s milking him, he drops her legs and explodes, gasping, thumb still casually working her clit, extending both their orgasms as she shudders into oversensitivity.

“Gah, stop!” she exclaims, swatting at his hand, earning herself a laugh from him. Playfully, he nips her neck and ear, sinking down so his weight is slightly to her side but still largely on her. He must have sensed somehow that she relished post-coital weighting down, and she wraps her arms and calves around him, petting through his long, ridiculous hair as their breath canters slowly into a more reasonable pace.

Now they are both rather smelly, sticky, and sweaty. But for now it can wait; the glow has yet to diminish, and after all, she is still a little tipsy.       


	3. New Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an argument with Yamcha leaves her (barely) injured, Bulma feels the effect of Vegeta marking his territory.   
> **lemony

For the next several weeks, Vegeta spent more time crashing into Bulma’s bed after a day’s training than he did passing out into his own. Bulma had noticed (to her extreme pleasure—teasing him on this factoid would never get old) that he was prone to manhandling her into a spooning position, where he'd press his nose and lips to her nape and fall fast asleep.

This night in particular, he’d gone to his own room to shower and redress before dinner; one of the rare instances he was done before late night. The woman’s ki was gently pulsing at the back of his mind, as it had for over a year; it was quiet wave crashing against his own consciousness, a constant reminder of his promise to rid the earth of the androids.

Vegeta washed his body perfunctorily, gritting his teeth. Sentiment had quickly become an issue, despite his best efforts to ignore the impulse to grab her and bolt themselves in a room every time he saw her on the compound. Which, as it turned out, was _a lot_. It didn’t help that the weak beta male had been visiting in increasing increments. He could feel the Z fighter’s ki weakly flapping, getting closer to the house. The prince scowled and squeezed shampoo into his palm, nearly too worn-out to fight, but not so whipped that he’d mind punching Yamcha in the face if he got the chance.

As he was rinsing off a final time, he felt Bulma’s ki spike, and could vaguely hear shouting from her room, only a few walls away. Curious, he slammed off the water and toweled off, slipping his black shorts and an A-shirt on before poking his head out into the hall.

The screaming increased, both male and female, echoing from Bulma’s room. Frowning, Vegeta approached, ready to listen and then intervene only if necessary. The woman could certainly handle a weakling like Yamcha; she had for years, after all. Vegeta was not particularly concerned for her _safety_ , but listening to her getting upset also sent a shard of rage through his abdomen.

It wasn’t until he felt and _heard_ her sharp shout of pain that he let his own fury rise, storming into the room. Bulma was on the balcony, rubbing the side of her head; she’d tripped over the landing rug and hit her temple on the cement pot of a plant while arguing with Yamcha. Vegeta quickly grabbed the beta male before he could even open his mouth and punched him in the jaw, knocking the human out cold.

“Ugh, Vegeta, that was _unnecessary_ ,” Bulma protested weakly. In answer, the prince stepped to the side and threw the man over the side of the three-story balcony and crossed his arms, glaring at her in silence until she moved to get on her feet.  Bulma winced at the thud they heard; at least he’d hit the grass and not the concrete porch below. She wiped her eyes furiously, hating that Vegeta was seeing her all worked up over something as idiotic as an argument with _Yamcha_.

“You’re hurt. It _was_ necessary.” Instead of waiting for her to right herself, he scooped her up and walked to her bathroom, setting her on the sink where the lights were brighter. There was a smudge of red in her bright blue hair and welled tears in her wide eyes. He hated it. “Stop squirming, woman!” he growled, grasping her wrist in his fingers and holding it loosely in her lap so he could inspect the wound with his other hand. It was just a scrape from the grit of the cement; it might bruise but was not bad enough for special attention. Flicking his eyes to her face, he noticed that for the first time, she was glaring at him in a sort of frustrated, insolent manner. “What?!”

“I can fight my own battles, _Vegeta_! You didn’t have to hurt him, he was already _leaving_!” she balled her free hand into a fist and pummeled away at his chest ineffectually. Vegeta frowned and looked down at her tiny fist. Smirking, he caught it easily and held it, pressing forward another inch and capturing her mouth in his.

“He shouldn’t make you cry,” Vegeta spoke soft, still simmering with unshed anger."No one has that right," he continued, scowling when she thought ' _except you?'_ so loudly he felt it. She pressed their foreheads together and sniffed back her tears. Since their first time, she’d been arguing with Yamcha, who could no doubt tell that she’d been claimed by the much stronger male. His jealousy was palpable, and Vegeta internally gloated that he was able to mark this beautiful woman with his scent and seed as often as possible. It wasn't the beta male's business who his ex slept with, and that was that, according to Bulma. Her prince couldn't help but agree.

“If he comes back tonight, I will kill him,” Vegeta snarled against her mouth. She tugged her wrists out of his grip and plunged her fingers into his hair, tipping his face up until their lips met, wrapping her calves around his waist until he was groin-to-groin with her. His own fingers tore at her, gripping much too hard and he knew it. He intended to bruise, and she had precisely zero fucks to give; if marking her up a bit calmed him down, he was welcome to it.

The prince mouthed at her throat, his breath evening out as his anger was absorbed, knowing she wasn’t interested in that weak fighter after all. She was _his_.

“You better make it quick, mom’s nearly done with dinner,” Bulma teased with a laugh, nipping sharply at his earlobe when she heard his stomach rumble. He growled and palmed her arse, walking them back to her bed and throwing her down with a bounce. He tugged her ankles up to his shoulders, tearing off her soft lounge shorts. She had no panties on under; they’d fallen into a fairly predictable nightly routine, what was the point? She pulled her own tank top off with a huff, reaching for the waistband of his shorts while he dove down to mouth at her plump breasts. With a groan she shoved his shorts down as far as she could reach, tugging up at the hem of his shirt next. He shredded it off with a snarl, hands sliding up her thighs, over her hips to her ribs to settle on either side of her breasts, tongue laving over her hardening nipples. Her legs had fallen to his hips until she could wrap around them, pulling him close until his tip was prodding at her entrance.  

“You wanna act like you own me, you have to make _me_ believe it too, _prince_ ,” she hissed in his ear, nails dragging down his scapulae until she drew blood. He reared back to balance on his fists and plunged into her mercilessly, setting a punishing rhythm from the get-go. She howled, gripping the meat of his firm shoulders as he reached under her to grip her arse, pinning her hips to his own with each brutal thrust.

“Fucking wreck me, you asshole!” she punched his pec in frustration, eliciting a chest-vibrating growl from him as he changed tactics, throwing her arms wide and going to his elbows on either side of her shoulders, plumbing deep enough that she knew she’d be hobbling tomorrow. He mouthed at her throat, nibbling with sharp bites the closer he got to her collar bone. Her desperate panting got higher and tighter as she clenched around him, hips trying to keep up with his punishing grinding. His teeth sank in with a final plunge, burying deep within her as he reached down and brushed a calloused thumb over her clit, shattering her into an explosive orgasm. Bulma screamed his name, fingers and pussy clenching over his flesh, spinning them both into a throbbing afterglow.

It wasn’t until after he caught his breath, panting into the pillow by her head that Vegeta tasted the blood on his teeth and drew back in surprise. “Shit,” he said, wiping his mouth and turning her head over with a thumb. She was already half asleep, limbs loose, chest still rising and falling rapidly.

“Wassa matter?” she asked, trying to push his hand away weakly.

“I bit you,” he said, a strange look crossing his face. Bulma thought he looked almost embarrassed, maybe a shade angry at himself. Her hand went to her neck, palpating the swollen, torn skin there.

“Ow. Well...so?” she didn’t understand the significance, and was already done with the conversation. They were both hungry, and dinner would be ready any moment, if it wasn’t by now. She worked her legs off his hips and sat back. “Dinner’s probably ready?” he was still frozen, staring at her neck. With a scowl, he snapped out of it and stood, tossing her shorts back at her face as he tugged his own on and stalked out.   

Confused, Bulma went to the bathroom (she had been right, walking was already painful!) and wiped herself a bit cleaner, redressed and headed downstairs for dinner. She hoped Yamcha had already gotten up and flown or driven home to lick his wounds. 

At the kitchen table, her parents and Vegeta sat on opposite ends. His plate was already half-empty, ready for several more rounds. The table was, as usual when he ate with them, overflowing with various foods, and the room was filled with her mom’s loud conversational nattering. Bulma sat next to Vegeta and filled her own plate, trying to keep from glancing over her shoulder into the courtyard behind them.

After several minutes (and a couple plates of food later) Vegeta sighed and muttered “He’s gone, quit vibrating over there,” under his breath so only she’d hear. Tension slid off her shoulders then, only to be reignited when she realized that Vegeta was chewing and glaring at the side of her neck.

Without missing a beat, her mother chimed into their little bubble; “Bulma, what happened sweetie?” she asked, pointing at her own neck. Professor Briefs glanced up, brows furrowing, before his attention went back to the paper spread open on the table before him. Vegeta coughed and spluttered over a chunk of potato in his throat, swallowing a huge amount of water as Bulma flushed bright red and fought to make up an excuse.

“UH, nothing mom, just… I fell and hit the pot on my balcony?” it wasn’t much of an excuse, but Bunny was generally a vapid, clueless woman, so she simply told her daughter to be more careful and went back to her meal. Bulma kept her peripheral vision on the prince and finished her plate quickly, ready to flee back to her bedroom as soon as possible.

He seemed to be of the same mind, swallowing his food with more tenacity than usual before slipping up the back stairs to their hall of rooms. Bulma left the table right behind him, intent on asking what the big deal was with this stupid bite mark that had him so bent out of shape.

She barged into his room without knocking and found Vegeta sitting on the balcony wall as he was wont to do.  He steadily ignored her, arms crossed tight over his chest and eyes pressed closed from where he lounged against the wall of the house, one leg on the concrete wall and the other dangling down into the courtyard below. “Hey! Don’t you run away from me. What the hell is your issue with this?” she fumed, pointing at her neck. When he remained silent, she came closer, nearly touching him. Bulma watched his jaw flex several times as he worked over an answer, so she waited, impatient.

“It’s how my kind mark our mates, Woman. I hadn’t _intended_ to do so, but I was apparently worked up after throwing out your miserable former lover, and felt like I needed to, apparently.” He grit his teeth, looking more frustrated now that she knew.

“That’s it? So, basically it’s like putting a ring on my finger?” she almost smiled when he went wooly between the eyes. “You publicly marked me so I’m ruined for any other man?” she clarified. His scowl cleared and was replaced, shockingly, by guilt. Bulma clamped her jaw shut and waited him out. After several minutes, there was no answer forthcoming, so she decided to urge him on. “Two questions?” she asked, quietly sitting in front of his foot on the wall.

“You’ve already done one, woman,” he growled, scowling into the shadowy yard below them.

“Fine, one more?” she stamped her foot, making his face pull up on one side in a slight smile.

“One,” he agreed, facing her again. He tried not to react to her return smile, forcing his own from his face.

“Alright.  Do you intend to let me _go_ , as in, _ever_? Or am I supposed to be okay with you ignoring me and being a general asshole outside from the bedroom from now on?” it was a loaded question, and ne she didn’t particularly expect him to answer, but she wanted a reaction out of him over it. If he was going to be acting all weird since he bit her, then she wanted specifics.

“I do not intend to share you,” he growled, but didn’t look like he was quite finished. “I imagine if what that future boy said comes true and I do die in this battle, you’ll be free to do whatever you want, but I’ll not _share_ while I’m alive to have something to say about it. If you’re thinking of moving on, clearly I haven’t done my job in ruining you quite yet.” His fists were clenched by the end, though Bulma noted that he basically ignored her question and just went for being territorial instead.

“Okay. Come on,” she sighed, tugging at his elbow until he let her unwind his tightly crossed arms, leading him back into his own bedroom and pushing him down. She went into his bathroom for a hair tie (several of their things had been mixed between the rooms by now) and came back with her hair in a tight bun, laying out beside him on the narrow bed, head cushioned on his chest.

Just as they were nearly asleep, she whispered, “Just so you know, I'm alright with it.” She felt his chest vibrate with a soft grunt, his hand slipping over her waist from behind, before they both drifted off.

___

When Bulma woke, it was because she was being forcibly rolled over onto her back by strong, calloused fingers. "Wa’s wrong?" she mumbled, still in the hazy drift of half-sleep. Vegeta was sniffing at her as he was wont to do after sex, but he was targeting her recent bite mark and then her belly. Bulma pawed through his tufted hair and smiled lazily, glancing over at the radio clock that read 01:17. She groaned and pushed at the Saiyan's huge head, decidedly grumpy that he'd woken her up for a scenting.  That he didn’t budge an inch surprised precisely zero percent of voters.

Why on earth did she even just call it that? Scenting, _ugh_. He and his weird animal-alien nature were rubbing off on her. _Literally_!

Too tired to argue, let alone fight, the scientist lay there and let him have his peace, sniffing at her arteries and pressure points, licking quick stripes over her wrists and between her hip bones. When he paused there, her stomach tightened, slightly ticklish, but he seemed preoccupied for a moment before moving back up her body to settle back behind her. Vegeta banded a thick arm around her, low on her belly, and buried his nose in the base of her skull, drifting back toward sleep.

"You're easier to handle when you're dreamy, like now," he murmured into her hair, and Bulma felt a smile stretch his face. She smiled too, though still mildly irritated, and let his gentle snores lull her back into oblivion.

____

 

The next time she woke, Bulma was back in her own bed, alone. Vegeta must have moved her when he went out to train. She cocked her head and listened for the penetrating hum of the GR, but heard nothing. Curious, she got up with a monstrous stretch, pulled on a pair of sweats from the floor and a loose tee shirt, and padded down to the kitchen for coffee.    

She was surprised to find Vegeta there, blowing at the steam on his coffee mug in the dark. Bulma flipped the light on and went to fetch herself a mug, brow furrowed slightly. He’d yet to say anything, which wasn’t exactly unusual, but he wasn’t even looking at her.

Something was off.

Vegeta’s mind was preoccupied. Just since he’d bitten Bulma, her scent had already changed minutely. She didn’t know or recognize it yet, but her body was slowly changing in very subtle ways; he could smell it, feel it in the increasing pulse of her ki. It would be easier to impregnate her now, her body preparing for what would be an energy –draining and likely powerful fetus.

And wasn’t that just the most confusing, irrational feeling in the universe. Part of him, the more rational, can’t-pin-me-down part, was appalled at the idea of a little brat running around with half his genes. The thing would be impossible to deal with; imagine, half of his personality (he wasn’t completely obtuse to the fact that he was hard to deal with, after all) and half Bulma, one of the most irritating, compulsively obstinate women that had ever lived. With energy abilities, it would be utterly absurd!

But the other part of him was quietly whispering ‘ _You’re the last of your line. An heir wouldn’t be a bad idea; that young fighter from the future DID say you’d die… Just in case.’_ With a growl, Vegeta slammed his empty mug on the counter and stomped out to the Gravity Room, shoulders a tight line of frustration.

He needed to figure this out, and being away from her for several hours might just do the trick.

Bulma rolled her eyes and watched him stalk off, grabbing a yogurt out of the fridge for her breakfast. She ate thoughtfully and drank her coffee, refilling it before she heard the familiar _woosh_ of someone flying in close. Looking up, she noticed Krillin, Yamcha, and Puar landing in the courtyard, eager for their usual twice-weekly breakfast.

 _Joke’s on them_ , she thought. Her mom wasn’t in today, her and Professor Briefs had left early for a long weekend at the beach, and Bulma had to go run the lab in an hour.  

Bulma got up and tossed her yogurt pot in the trash, rinsing out her mug and ready to go to work. She had to distract herself; Vegeta’s attitude this morning had gotten under her skin too easily. She rubbed at the scabbed bite mark over her clavicle and shook her head.   

The Z fighters came in, loud and laughing at their own conversation. Bulma leaned against the wall, ready to tell them to feed themselves and get out before Vegeta came back for lunch.

“Hey Bulma!” Krillin shot her a huge grin and waved, ever his happy, effervescent self. Yamcha shifted his feet and glowered at her, muttering a quiet greeting, while Puar floated around their shoulders, chirping a bright hello.

“Morning,” she said, pushing off the wall, hands on her hips. She was suddenly in no mood to deal with them. “Mom’s not here, so feed yourselves, I’ve got to get to work. Oh,” she paused at the door, swinging around to face their astounded and fallen faces. She put a finger in the air: “Be gone by lunch, Vegeta’s in a _mood_ today,” she said with a wink to Yamcha specifically, who was still sporting a decent bruise on his jaw from last night’s argument. He scowled and flung himself into a chair at the table as she left.


	4. A Night of Horrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veggie-chan has nightmares, seeks refuge, and answers two more questions.   
> insight into his childhood and what haunts him.  
> *fluff, implied smut  
> *probably more typos than usual; I apologize. I'm typing today on my horrible laptop and the keyboard is shit. my condolences to your eyeballs and brains. I tried.

Vegeta sat on the edge of his own bed, aching head in his hands. It had been well into the early hours of the morning when he felt drained enough to cease training and get some food and rest. In an effort to not call attention to himself, he'd gone to bed alone.

Lucky for him, no one was awake quite yet. The prince had filled up on the usual leftovers from the fridge and wearily dragged himself to his quarters for a quick, cold shower. He fell bonelessly into bed soon after, his mind dredging him through a fitful hour asleep before he'd woken with a strangled shout, in a cold sweat, and decided enough was enough.

He just couldnt sleep alone, anymore.

Glancing at the clock and it's blaring red numbers reading 04:08 with a scowl, Vegeta shook the ghosts from his past out of his eyes and walked out to his balcony. Bulma's door would be unlocked, and the warmth of her body curled against his own called to his frayed senses. Muscles screaming, nearly to the point of needing a senzu bean, the prince lifted himself into the air and floated the few yards to her balcony.

When her door slid open, Bulma stirred at the gritty sound and cracked an eye open at the shadowy figure painted against the moonlight in her doorway. Recognizing the familiar silhouette of his hair, she rolled to the side of the bed, giving him room to slide in behind her. Vegeta did so gratefully, nuzzling his nose into the back of her hair as he pulled her close to him, his hand settling on the small bump of her three-months-pregnant belly even as she scooted her bum backward into his groin. She was already asleep again, exhausted by the daily energy drain of his ever-growing, half-saiyan seed, but Vegeta took a moment to calm himself, the horror of his nightmare still playing behind his eyelids.

He soon joined her in sleep, though not for long. The woman's alarm clock went off at 7, declaring it time for her to get ready for a busy work day. In annoyance, Vegeta smashed the small radio and curled tighter around Bulma, who snorted and tried to turn around under the thick band of his arm. He allowed it, but only just.

Bulma frowned and reached a hand up to trace at his furrowed brow, seeing the darkness he'd tried to stifle in the night. they'd yet to say a word, but she could tell he'd sought comfort in her bed, not beng able to find it on his own.

"Vegeta?" she whispered, pressing their foreheads together. His eyes cracked open, just enough to bore into her own, before his arm tightened and he hid his face in her shoulder and hair. After several minutes Bulma tugged at the shorter hairs at the back of his head until he extricated himself enough to face her. He looked miserable, she decided. Setting her mouth into a firm line, she pressed his face to her neck and let him stay there, mouth closed but pressed to the bite mark he'd left there so long ago.

It had healed quickly, especially after she became pregnant. Though her body was constantly exhausted, she seemed to heal faster from minor bruises or abrasions, and found that she felt a little stronger as well; she'd been able to move things in her lab or even build a large engine, handling the huge parts with ease.

Her fingers petted at the back to his head, even as her mind wandered to the fateful night when he'd cautiously broached the subject with her, a week or so after the biting incident that had left him awkwardlky embarassed and distant.

_"What the hell is bothering you so much," Bulma asked, hands fisted on her hips as she stood a few feet away from the prince. He had his arms twined tight over his chest, glaring at her, before his resolve broke and he sighed heavily. She watched, rapt, as his fingers dug into his eyes and he turned to face her._

_"The bite. It...ugh. I hate this shit!" he growled, turning to face out into the courtyard from where they stood on his balcony. Bulma stepped out into the night and waited, irate but curious. He'd been avoiding her, less intimate than ever since he'd bitten her, and it was grating on the scientist's nerves._

_"Spit it out, already," Bulma pressed, hoping to goad a reaction out of him, but instead his shoulders slumped. He pressed the balls of his palms to the concrete wall and frowned deeper, finding the words._

_"I want a son," he whispered. In the dead silence that followed, Bulma held her breath, unsure of what to say._

_On the one hand, she was thirty... if she was going to have a kid, she needed to do it soon._

_On the other hand, she didn't really want to be a single parent, and it was basically guaranteed if she had one with him._

_"Uh..." was all she managed before he huffed a loud breath and clenched his jaw. She'd not be interested, he knew it. She was busy; intelligent and kind, yes, always, but not enough to spend her body and energy helping him make an heir to a kingdomless throne._

_To a peopleless throne, he amended. An empty crown, if there ever was one._

_"Why now?" she asked, surprising him. He stood and half-turned, glancing over her face before turning back and staring up at the night sky. It was nearly too bright on the compound to see the stars, but a few shone through the glow of orange light around them._

_"If that boy from the future was right, and I fear he might be, i'll die during this battle. I'd like to have an heir, or at least continue my race, even if it is a half-breed. Kakarrot's seed has grown strong and capable." He drifted off, mouth unwilling to form the words enough to continue. He was sure his seed would be stronger than Gohan. He wasat least selfish enough to want to give it a try._

_Bulma stayed quiet for several minutes. She approaced him and held her arms out until he took the hint, letting her into the circle of his arms. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder and thought for a moment, alrady decided but determining the best way to broach the subject._

_"I will give you an heir, but you have to swear to me on your pride, Vegeta, because nothing is more important to you than that, that you will always call me and that child home, and you will always come back to us. And protect us," she added. She felt him tense just before his arms tightened around her. He scented at her bite mark and let out a deep huff of air._

_"I will not publicly show affection, especially in battle. You'll be targeted. You'll keep your distance from the battleground," he put his fingers to her mouth as she started to argue, "Because it's idiotic to tell you to not come at all; you'll make sure you're there for the fight, even in know that. But you'll stay a safe distance away. It's likely that you'll raise the child by yourself, but I will come back to you, as long as I live. there's nowhere else for me to go, even if I wanted to, Bulma."_

_"Deal," she said, unable to make her voice cooperate for much more. Without a word, he scooped her up and pressed his mouth to her own, walking them into his bedroom to make an heir._

Now, she felt her energy draining every day. She ate about four times more than normal, even at her hungriest. The baby was abut the size of a five-month human pregnancy, completely fucking up her timeline for her due date. But Vegeta was always close, even to the point of bursting in through a window once when she'd cut her palm on shard of scrap metal.

But now he was in her arms, obviously upset and yet unwilling to talk about it. "Talk to me," she whispered, tugging at his hair again. He grunted and licked over her scar tentatively, the arm that had been wrapped around her loosened and moved down to cup the small bump she had growing between her hips. He'd been more gentle than ever with her since she concieved, even their sex life had been gentler, if no less thorough and mind-blowing. She was ruined for this man, and they both knew it.

Hell, her _parents_ knew it. Everyone seemed to.

She tried again, pushing at him until he looked up at her, face serene but eyes holding onto some horror in their dark depths. She'd never been close enough to Goku to notice, but Vegeta's eyes were not quite black in the light of day. The iris was a shade or two lighter than the pupil, more of a charcoal grey. When he steadily refused to meet her gaze, she sighed.

"Two questions, before i go to work?" she combed her fingers up his scalp, soothing. He groaned softly but nodded. Bulma felt his jaw clench slightly and mulled over her first question.

"What's the worst thing you've ever done? This thing that haunts you?" Bulma tensed minutely, feeling his hand on her belly harden before he forced it to relax. He wouldnt hurt her, let alone their child. She had nothing to fear from him except his eventual--and likely--abandonment. She waited with bated breath for several minutes. Bulma could practically feel that he was deciding whether or not to answer her. He growled under his breath, and she knew the answer wasn't going to be pretty.

"It's more what I didn't do that bothers me. My first mostly solo mission under Freeza, I was eight. I was sent to purge a planet after reports came in that said it had no useful resources. I...I couldnt kill this group of children and of course Freeza found out. Zarbon made sure of it. Freeza came down with a ship of other warriors and made me watch while they..." he paused and cleared his throat several times. Bulma winced. "Well. Let's say the girls had it worse than most of the boys. He made me tear several of them apart by hand, making sure I got drenched in their blood. Most of them were torn limb from limb before they'd even died. IT's not even the worst thing i've done, by most people's standards; but it's the only thing i failed in that actually hurt other people more than it did me."

By the end, he was laying beside her limp, as if letting it out took more out of him than several hours' training. Bulma hugged him tighter and pressed her lips to his forehead, pushing his face back into her throat. He took a few minutes, but eventually nuzzled at her bond bite and began to wind his arms back around her.

 _She lets me so close. Even after learning more about me, she doesn't push me away._ If he wasn't keeping a mind out for the baby, he'd crush her to him. No one had ever let him know he was _loveable_ , until her. She was an impossibility.

After several minutes, she felt his lips part on her collarbone. "Next," he whispered. Bulma smiled. "This one's easy; what do you think; boy or girl? And what about a name?" Her hand joined his on her belly.

"That is two questions, woman," he groused, nibbling at her ear. "It's male. Of course, it _should_ be Vegeta, not that I expect you to continue my royal line, stubborn female."

" _Eew_ ," she groaned, throwing her head back and pushing at his shoulder. Appalled, Vegeta's head shot up, mouth hanging open in shock. _Did she just--_ but his astonishment was short-lived as she started laughing. She'd made a joke. He pressed his teeth together and growled, pulling her on top of him as he rolled to his back. He was still exhausted, but if she was getting up for the day, he might as well, too.

Bulma was still giggling at his reaction as he picked her up and walked both of them into her bathroom, her calves twined just above the scarred nub of his tail and his hands cupped under her bum. The prince set her on the sink and went to run her shower water, letting it warm while she slipped her nightgown and panties off.

When he turned back, his eyes raked down her bare chest, over her breasts appreciatively to fall on her little baby bump and a small smile graced his normally severe features. Bulma reached for him and he came, letting her wrap around him. Veegeta walked them into the shower and reated his mate to a gentle--if _thorough_ \--washing.

She might have been a little late to her first meeting--but who's going to complain when they've got the Prince of all Saiyans to answer to?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet; please drop me a comment and let me know how it went. again, sorry about the probably insane amount of typos.


	5. Soul-Searching Saiyan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veggie leaves for some soul-searching, Bulma sulks and gets closer to her probable due date  
> they love e/o

**Ch4:**

If anyone asked Bulma (and let’s be honest, people _did_ and _do_ ask) what it was like being romantically involved with Vegeta, she’d have to give them the honest answer.

It was a veritable roller coaster. One day he’s curled in her lap, telling her stories about Vegeta-sai and teaching her words in his language, the next he isn’t talking to her or anyone else for a week straight and nearly kills himself getting sliced open by one of her training bots in the GR.

It’s infuriating, to say the least.

She also wouldn’t have it any other way.

Two months after his early-morning confessional, her partner could be seen casually loading boxes into Capsule 3. Bulma watched him for a while from her bedroom window with a heavy heart before she made the journey down to the lawn. As if he could sense her suddenly sad energy, the baby wiggled around and stretched, causing the scientist to pause several times on the stairs.

Vegeta had said she would deliver him before the human 9-month gestation period, but couldn’t be more specific than that. And frankly, Bulma didn’t really want to call Chi-Chi and start a gossip train.

For the sake of her life with the temperamental prince, the less people who knew, the better. 

Bulma walked calmly out to Capsule 3 and waited for Vegeta to come out for another load of food boxes. He was apparently stocking for a long trip, going by the pile he had. When he came back out, he paused and glanced at her before continuing, fully expecting a violent outburst from her. But Bulma bit her tongue and leaned on the doorway, instead.

They’d had a deal, after all. And he had yet to achieve Super Saiyan by training solely in the GR. She’d been working on a new invention for him, and decided to open with that.

“Geez, Vegeta you have bad timing. I’m almost done with the new toys I made you for training,” she said coyly. He stopped halfway back up the stairs with his stack of packaged rations and shot her a glance, still expecting a more explosive response. Instead, he got a wary look back and damn if that didn’t just hit him below the belt. He set his boxes down and crossed his arms, waiting her out.

“I’m not telling, you’ll have to come back and get them when they’re done I guess!”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be working anymore, woman. You’re nearly ready to give birth as it is!” it was a barely-masked cry of concern but Bulma took the bait no less. Vegeta sighed the sigh of the greatly put-upon and waited for the chaos to thicken and then fizzle out.

“Well, GEEZ what am I supposed to do around here?! I can’t WORK, I can’t _talk_ to anyone; I can’t even have anyone _over_ because you won’t let anyone know except _YAMCHA_! UGH!” She stamped her foot, which had the immediate and consistent effect of making him laugh. It just stoked her fire, unfortunately. “And NOW what am I supposed to do? Huh? The only person who even talks to me is leaving before HIS baby is even born and THEN HE TELLS ME I CAN’T FINISH WORKING ON THE TINY FUCKING THING I’M MAKING SOLELY FOR HIM?!” he was close enough that she could punch at his chest ineffectually, letting out her rage that she’d sworn she’d buried before walking out here to tell him goodbye.

Instead of screaming back at her like she knows he wants to, her mate clenches his jaw a few times, shakes his head, and pushes the rest of his food supplies into the ship. He seals it, scoops her up, and flies them both to his balcony. She’s still fuming, but the fire is going out fast, replaced by the tears that come too easily these days. He hasn’t talked to her in at least two days, aside from passing comments to and from the GR and his bedroom.

But this time, the prince sets her gently on the edge of his bed and goes to his sparsely-filled closet, encapsulating everything in there, including the new armor she’s made him. He secretly loves it, which is why he’s yet to put it on to train in. It deserves to see battle, not his pathetic attempts at powering-up that seem to go nowhere, right now.

Bulma watches his process and scrubs roughly at her face, irritated that he’s doing the exact same thing he punched Yamcha’s daylights out for. As if he can sense her train of thought, he turns and comes back to the bed, pocketing the capsule and kneeling in front of her.

Her belly has gotten huge now; its recent growth is only more indicative that she has a month, give or take a day or two, before their little half-Saiyan is here. He keeps his eyes on her face and leans forward, pressing his forehead to her bump and waiting for her to admit defeat. She always does, in the face of his misery.

"I understand why, Vegeta. It doesn’t mean I have to like it. Will you come back when he’s born?” she asks, nearly afraid of the answer; he’s very likely not going to come back until he achieves his goal. And it’s taken two years already. He sighs against her thigh and rests his head there, silent.

But Vegeta’s actually already made up his mind; he’d fully intended to orbit a close planet in the same solar system so that he can keep an eye on her. But his pride tells him to bite the bullet and tell her he’ll be back when it’s time to fight, not a moment sooner. He does, and she goes still for several seconds, probably fighting off another wave of hysteria.

Instead of the horns, he gets the void. With a barely-there sniffle, she pushes his head off her lap and leaves, locking herself in her room. When he comes to her door later, he doesn’t knock, but she knows he’s there, hovering in the hallway.

“Go away, Vegeta,” she sighs. He can tell from her muffled voice that she’s laid out on her bed, suffocating in snot and used tissues. He stands in the hallway, torn. He’s fully capable of simply hitting her door and walking in, it wouldn’t even be an effort. But it’s rude, and he at least _tries_ to be a gentleman. The prince growls under his breath and waits, but before he can decide what to do, she wrenches the door open and glares at him for all she’s worth.

It’s not a pretty picture, her standing there with mascara around her eyes and in old, worn pajamas, her hair’s a mess; and it’s probably the last he’ll see of her before the androids tear him in half. But it’s all he’s getting. And part of him says _it’s still more than you deserve._

And bless her, they may not be perfect for one another quite yet, but Bulma watches that flash of self-hate stutter through his eyes and she melts.  How can she be awful to her baby’s father, a man she will readily admit she’s completely fallen for, when he’s in pain? When she may never get to see him again.

“Look. I know we made a deal. It’s just…hard. I understand, and I’m not going to kick up a fuss. Just. Take care of yourself, would you? You like to get hurt and then keep rolling. Don’t. Please?” she’s gone quiet and looks back at him, wide blue eyes imploring, and instead of an answer he shoulders his way into her bedroom and shuts the door behind him.

“I only have enough food for a few months, woman. I’ll have to come back anyway,” the Saiyan hugs her as close as he dares, burying his face in her hair with a deep inhale; Bulma gets the distinct impression that he’s trying to memorize her scent.

He is.

He rarely wishes that he had his tail back, but he can almost feel the phantom limb curling around her thigh for reassurance. For once it’s she who tugs him to the bed so that they’re on the same level. She pushes him down until he's laying on "his" designated pillow and turns her huge stomach to face him.    

“Next time you’re here, there will be a new face to acquaint yourself with,” she whispers. They both palm her belly and Vegeta palpates gently with his fingertips, feeling the child out. He earns a sharp kick to his hand for his efforts and shoots a look up at Bulma, assessing her pain tolerance. “He doesn’t kick much anymore. We had a few months there where I was sure I was losing organs and ribs but I fussed at him one day and he suddenly quit. He still rolls around and stretches, but he’s nice to mommy nowadays,” she says with a sleepy grin. She’s cried herself out today and is exhausted. And as much as Vegeta wants to be with her once more before he goes, he knows that between her stress and anxiety, and the baby, she’s in no state to enjoy herself. So he’ll settle for keeping close and watching her sleep until it claims him, too.

___

Vegeta exits the Earth’s atmosphere and cruises past a small red planet at the highest speed this fat little machine can handle. Which, irritatingly, is not very fast. He decides that the asteroid belt between this planet and the large brown one is not worth navigating; he sets his ship to orbit this _Mars_ place and moves to begin his training immediately.

As he warms up, stretching and slowly building up the gravity levels, he thinks back to mere hours ago, when his heart was in his throat.

Is that not why he left? To get solitude?  

The prince snarls at himself and begins doing press-ups, not counting. He’s not done until his arms quiver and crash beneath his own weight. Every time concern leaches into his focus, he shakes it back out. He’s up here for himself, nothing else. His own goals.

Besides, Bulma is in very capable hands. Her doctor works and lives at Capsule Corp, for Kami's sake. 

He presses up a final time and can feel the tug and burn of his aching arms before he collapses to the floor.

By day three, he caved.

Perhaps leaving earth wasn’t so conducive after all, when the main source of his worry is torn clean in two between a woman and his child, and achieving a goal he’s had thrust upon him his entire life.

When he was barely walking, his father told him the legend of the Super Saiyan warriors, how they’d descended into fable long before his own father’s time. How tit was Vegeta’s destiny to become one, to pressure himself into becoming the ultimate, to save his people. He would be the ruler of an elite race, led by an unstoppable force.

When he was taken at age five by the ice lizard, Freeza, and trained under horrific conditions, he was reminded constantly of his potential, and how he was undermining his species by refusing to ascend. He fought constantly, sometimes until he literally blacked out from exhaustion, as they tried to force his young body to achieve something no one in recent memory had been able to.

When his planet and entire people were obliterated two years later, he was told that it was because he’d failed. If he’d been strong enough, he could have killed Freeza and saved them. So he made it his life’s duty to avenge them, instead. He’d do whatever he had to in order to get as strong as possible, strong enough to blast that bastard straight to hell.

When he came to earth, he’d been confused but astounded to find another living Saiyan there. That the idiot dared to overachieve him was infuriating. Kakarrot’s ascension only fueled his own drive even more, day by day. He had to best that third-rate moron.

There was no other option for him.

Not true. There is another option, it’s just not a life he is sure he can live.

Not that Bulma would ask him to be so domesticated. She’d see right through him and make him spar with Kakarrot, force him out of the house somehow.

Part of him thinks he could definitely live with that, after the androids are defeated. That is not an option; he will live to see his son grow up and take his place beside himself, another Super Saiyan. He knows Bulma will let him train the boy, she’s nothing like that harpy Kakarrot married and bred with.

The prince wipes his exposed torso off and drops into the seat at the cock-pit of his ship, completely drained. He pauses, wondering if he’s really going to let himself do it today. His concern and desire for a waterfall of blue hair and accompanying smile win out, and he’s turning on the screen and typing in the codes that her father gave him before he took off.

Within ascends, he’s hacked into the camera system of the residential side of the complex, flicking through panel after panel until he finds the shot he’s looking for. It’s an outside camera, facing the courtyard, but with a few clicks he’s got it aimed into the sliding door of her balcony.

Bulma is sitting on her deck, a closed book on her lap, staring up at the night sky. She almost looks wistful, searching, and Vegeta’s stomach twists.

He is the reason she’s making that face.

One hand casually slips over her belly, and he can see she’s muttering to herself, or perhaps the child, but can’t make out the words.

Vegeta watches for several minutes, until she stands, wobbles into her room, and readies for bed. He stares at the screen for a while after she’s gone still, likely asleep, and beast himself up over it.  

Why does she have to love him? Someone that is neither deserving of her love, nor truly capable of loving her back? He’s utterly selfish, to a fault. He’s a broken, emotionally stunted spoiled brat, and he knows it just as well as anyone.

But he thinks he can do better, maybe, with her. For her.

He just has to try harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, i'm on a roll. let me know how that roll tastes!  
> thanks for reading


	6. Trunks' Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks is born, fluff and protective Veggie-chan happens
> 
> apparently i literally can't stop. im already working on ch6; i have NEVER written this quickly before O_o

Four weeks into Vegeta’s new training regimen, he can feel the tingle of Super Saiyan splitting over his scalp. His ki aura turns from whitish to a faint yellow briefly before he hits his knees, exhausted.

He can taste it; it’s infuriating.

After two more tries with no success, he feels his muscles cramping and refusing to relax. He needs to take a break. He showers, lets a refrigerator out of its capsule, and finds something to eat. The small red planet offers a faint glow of light while he navigates to the control deck to sink further into his newest pathetic pastime.

He hacks into the cameras and sits back to enjoy his meal. He flicks his eyes curiously over the screen for a while, seeing nothing. It’s not particularly offputting; it’s still day, and Bulma is likely off on another part of the compound doing Kami knows what. Vegeta frowns, opens another package of food and pans the camera around, skipping to other locations around the various buildings until he lands on the one in her lab.

Still nothing. Against his better judgement, he feels his hackles raising. It could be time for her to deliver the baby…

Before his nerves can make him fire up the ship and fly home (and isn’t that word alone just sickening; when has _he_ ever had a _home_?) he runs back through the cameras, trying each for a glimpse of aqua blue...

And promptly jumps about three inches out of his skin. Bulma is grinning wickedly into a new panel, one he’s never seen before. She’s staring, seemingly directly at him, as if she knows he’s on the other end. Her mouth moves, and he scrambles to find the audio switch.

“--never imagined that you’d be one for _looking in_ on me, but it was easy enough to screen the security cameras for recent logins. My dad has never screened these things since they were put up. Caught ya, prince Veggie.” When she winks with a wide grin, he forgets to grit his teeth at her pandering nickname.

He nearly forgets to breathe.

“So I put this one in my room, since you’re so worried. And another in Trunks’ room. It should be the next panel, if you click over?” she waits and he obediently clicks to the next panel. There’s a small room, one he recognizes from their hall, painted a light green with a tall cage-like bed against one wall and a chair on some sort of sliding mechanism. He grimaces and switches back to Bulma’s waiting face and stares at her for another minute, drinking in her delicate, beautiful features like water in the desert… until she decides that he’s probably back by now and starts talking again.

“I named him Trunks… Sort of a family thing, ya know? If you don’t want me or him painted as a target, I can’t very well name him after you, can I? I could make it a middle name, if you wanted. I’m glad you’re keeping an eye on me. Makes it feel a little more like you’re here. But I wish I could see you back. I know you blasted the com board and the cameras before you left, you did that ages ago.” Vegeta’s stomach clenches at how sad she looks. His eyes are like magnets when her hand drifts unconsciously over her huge belly. Kami, she must be due any day now.

Bulma’s head turns sharply to the right, as if she can hear someone calling her. “Coming, mom,” she calls back, rolling her eyes and struggling to get up from the edge of her bed. She looks into the camera again with a smile, sort of wistful, and Vegeta feels like an ass, all of a sudden.

“Come home safe, Vegeta. I miss you.” And she’s gone, leaving the prince blinking at an empty room. He swallows several times, choking on her words.

 _How_ could she possibly miss _him_?

 _Why_?!  

It takes him several minutes to each for the keyboard and move back to the green room. It says TRUNKS in big patterned wooden letters above his bed-cage, and the furniture is a sort of bleached white. There’s a soft carpet in the middle of the room and an assortment of toys in crates opposite the window. It looks entirely too soft and rounded and weak for a Saiyan prince. But, he supposes, the child will be a half-breed. There’s no telling how strong he’ll be in the beginning.

Vegeta scrubs a hand over his face and turns back to Bulma’s room, intending to wait until she returns and perhaps listen to her voice some more.

Now that’s something he never thought he’d miss. The woman’s screeching is one thing, but her regular voice is like a balm on his wounds.

Vegeta fall asleep in front of the com screen before Bulma returns and lays down for the night. Though she notices the little red blinking indicator light on the bottom of the camera is on, she pretends like he isn’t turned onto her at the moment and plays out her night normally. She lays down, gets comfortable, and drifts to sleep to the usual sloshing of her son moving around inside her.

There’s a good few hours of quiet, long-distance sleep between them when Vegeta suddenly jolt awake. He looks around his little place of solitude in confusion. He feels a sharp tug in his solar plexus and jumps up, alarmed, ready for a fight.

But the issue is on-screen. In his sleep he’d turned down the volume to almost mute on the com device, and there’s a bustling going on in Bulma’s room. He watches as she holds her stomach and rolls out of bed, struggling, face contorted.

The baby’s coming, and he’s _hours away_.

"Shit!"

Vegeta fires up the ship and pulls out of the red planet’s orbit as quickly as possible, nerves fraying at the edges. Kami, he’s destroyed entire worlds with less internal upset than the arrival of one child is giving him.

What the hell!

He keeps the cameras on, switching to different halls and rooms until he sees her mother fly through a doorway and scream at a man he’s never seen before, wearing a long white coat. The man- presumably one of earth’s healers, a doctor; Vegeta knows they wear these coats- runs with her into the hospital wing of the compound where they help Bulma strip and get into a slit-open gown. It’s the last he sees of her before the curtain surrounding her bed area is drawn tightly closed around Bulma, her mother, and the doctor, and Vegeta’s blood pressure hits the roof.

There’s logically nothing he can do for the few hours it will take to get back to Capsule Corp, so he sets the ship to auto pilot and, resigning himself to watching a screen he can’t hear, he trains. He uses the emotional upheaval and toxic amounts of adrenaline and cortisol in his system to ramp up his ki, pulsing it higher and higher until he feels it in the roots of his hair. Still he presses on, growling until he’s red-faced and out of breath. It’s nearly there, _his son is nearly here_ and he needs this achievement now more than ever.

Bulma is about to give him everything, and he wants to bring something home for her, as well. His mind’s eye sparks an image of her beatific smile, proud of him, when he manages the transformation for her.

He presses himself as hard as he can, shouts echoing off the metal walls around him.

The room gets brighter and brighter until he sees flashes of lightning curling off his body, then feels a sharp tapering off, his energy signal becoming a plateau and then steeply declining as he runs out of breath and stamina. His body has never been so confused. He’s exhausted, but more aware than he’s been in months. He can’t calm down, and suddenly the walls of the ship are too much to bear. If he could survive in a vacuum, he’d blast the ship apart and fly back to earth solo.

But he can’t do that, so he has to wait. He does press-ups and dodges ki blasts from the one remaining training bot until he gets sloppy, and one energy ball slices his calf open. He tears his shirt off and daubs at the blood. For once he actively hopes that it seals before he lands.

The ship jostles and creaks horribly when he enters earth’s atmosphere, and flames dance on the windows. Vegeta decides that once he’s past the danger zone, the ship will set to auto-land at its space at Capsule Corp and he will fly the rest of the way there. He can fly faster than this huge lug of a machine, anyway. 

Another ten minutes and he types a code into the control panel, sealing himself in the air chamber and turning himself out into the early morning sky. Another fifteen minutes and he’s landing hard, making a crater in the yard behind the hospital wing of the compound. When he stomps in the door, the girl behind the counter simply points down the left hall, shaking, and watches him stalk down the bright hallway, vibrating with tension.

He reaches out with his senses, searching for her familiar ki, and he feels it flare up. She’s in pain and scared, screaming. But, eclipsing her power tenfold is their son. Vegeta is momentarily floored by how strong he’ll be; it’s almost absurd. He feels a wary stab of pride and pushes the door to her room open.

Three heads turn his way, but only Bunni looks shocked to see him. Bulma is red-faced, sweaty, obviously in tremendous pain, but cocks a sure smile his way and gulps down air. Vegeta stands, suddenly frozen, in the doorway until the moment glazes over and her screaming reignites.

“Get over here you asshole, I’m breaking her fucking hand!” Bulma tears her fingers away from her mom’s and extends them to Vegeta, who comes closer and takes her hand. She is indeed gripping far too hard for a normal human. He avoids looking down at the mess between her legs, though he is curious. He’s more terrified than anything at the moment. He wills his face into a passive mask and watches his mate’s struggle, wanting to help and yet unable to.

“Okay, Bulma. Two firm pushes, his head is crowning now,” the doctor supplies from between her open legs, focused on easing the child out slowly and safely. The scientist grits her teeth audibly and clenches Vegeta’s hand in hers anew, a gritty sort of scream coming out as she pushes, breathes, and pushes again. There is a faint squelching sound and the doctor confirms that Trunks’ head is out. “Two more for the shoulders, and the rest is easy!”

Vegeta’s eyes are riveted to his mate’s face. She has never looked more like a warrior to him than she does right now. She’s exhausted, completely done-in but still fighting with every ounce of strength she can muster, because their son’s life depends on it. She looks up at him briefly as if to say “I’m done, I can’t,” and he presses his lips to her temple, squeezing her hand back, gently. She lets her head fall to the bed, draws in a huge breath, and clenches her muscles, pushing as hard as she can until she feels something shake loose, and her baby’s body is free of her own, finally.

Bunni Briefs presses a cold towel into Vegeta’s free hand and waves at Bulma, indicating that he needs to wipe her face down. He does, in awe. She’s barely conscious, eyes defocused, but their boy’s energy is throbbing on the other side of the room, steady and strong. The doctor cleans him perfunctorily and diapers him and puts his nearly-naked body on Bulma’s bare chest, screaming, purple-haired and all. Vegeta momentarily glares at his ridiculous lavender tail before he’s taken over again with awe at exactly what Bulma has accomplished.

There’s no denying the infant’s power signature; it’s very like his own. Despite the fact that he’ll grow up looking like a Briefs, he’s got the power of a Saiyan elite, and that alone is something for the prince to be proud of. He only realizes he’s staring when Bulma huffs a laugh and tugs him closer, placing his bare hand on the baby’s back.

If he’s ever been worried of crushing his mate, he’s a million times more so about the helpless infant she’s just put his dangerous, deadly hands on. He goes to move away but before he can, Bulma’s head lolls to one side and her eyes glaze over.

“Bulma?” he moves his hand to her face and swivels to find the doctor. The man is back between Bulma’s legs, worrying over something there.

“She’s hemorrhaging! _Here_ ,” the doctor presses baby Trunks into Vegeta’s hands and shoves at him bodily until he’s reached Bulma’s head, lowering the top of her bed and inserting a thick needle into her forearm. Several nurses rush into the room at the blaring of an alarm and Vegeta watches, horrified, as Bulma slowly and steadily bleeds out before his eyes.

 _She’s not the one who’s supposed to die,_ he thinks wildly. He looks down at their son, in his arms, screaming and just as alarmed as his father. The wild energy in the room is doing neither of them any good, and he’s in the way, so Vegeta goes to the hall, numb.

He doesn’t want a son without its mother; the idea of an heir is suddenly empty without a queen to raise it. He slides down the wall, knees to his chest, baby settled between his bare chest and his forearm. The brat slowly quiets down, nuzzling into his father’s soft skin, and falls asleep.

The chaos in Bulma’s hospital room dulls to a low bubbling and she is stabilized. The doctor comes out to tell the prince, exhausted and unsure, that Bulma should recover fully after a few rounds of blood transfusion and rest. She’s sedated for now, and nurses will be in shortly to clean up the baby and help feed it until she can wake up enough to do it herself. Vegeta nods once and stands, carrying Trunks back to the doorway of the ward.

Bunni is sitting back beside Bulma’s bed, face lined with worry. When she notices Vegeta, she lights up, coming closer to look at her new grandson. In the heat of the moment, she’d not gotten the chance. Vegeta goes to hand the brat over and she refuses. “Oh, no. Let him bond with his daddy. He needs skin time,” she says, confusing the prince. But he growls and sits in the chair by Bulma’s bed, watching the monitors that map out his mate’s life for his eyes, as if he can’t sense her faint pulse and weak energy signal on his own.

He looks down at the infant sleeping in the crook of his arm. This thing nearly cost him the most important woman in the cosmos. And he _asked_ for a child, despite her weak human form.

 _You’d better be worth it_ , Vegeta thinks.    

___

 

A nurse comes in, hours later, and holds her hands out to a nearly-asleep but hyper-vigilant Vegeta, waiting expectantly. He frowns at her, and her hands tremble slightly, but she is persistent. When he hands her the brat, he places himself at the door to Bulma’s room, making it clear that his little family _is_ staying in this room.

This same nurse had been in earlier when he'd scared Bunni off; she’d been tittering for hours, driving him insane. Bulma was asleep, the baby was asleep, yet she babbled on to the prince until his nerves had it. The nurse, Mulai, knelt, still as a statue from where she'd been gluing Vegeta's calf back together, as he growled at the blonde woman, telling her to get out or shut up indefinitely. She’d politely gotten up and scampered from the room, promising to bring him back food; he must be hungry, his temper was getting bad, she squeaked.

Vegeta had to hand it to the nurse, she had a backbone. Not once did she look back at him where he stood, arms crossed tightly, glaring at her every move from across the room. She swiftly and gently laid Trunks’ sleepy form over Bulma’s chest and propped him there with a large C-shaped pillow, before removing his mate’s open-front gown from one of her breasts and flicking over her nipple before sticking it in the infant’s searching mouth. Vegeta balked, uncomfortable but unable to look away, before willing himself to remember that breasts were, indeed, _for this purpose_ , and his son was likely as famished as he was.

He’d never been exactly happy to see Bunni coming toward him, but now she was pushing a cart laden with foods to Bulma’s room, where the Saiyan stood in the doorway. “Here ya go, Veggie, and there’s more if you want it in the fridge, like usual. How’s everybody doing in here,” she asked, sticking her head in between his arm and the doorframe. The nurse smiled professionally and waved at Bunni before checking the tubes sticking out of Bulma’s arms and leaving. It isn’t lost on her that Vegeta largely ignores Mrs. Briefs, like she’s barely more than a mildly irritating fly. Who feeds him enormous amounts of food; that’s probably why. Her eyes widen momentarily at the mountain of food on the cart and she turns back to her boss’ baby-daddy with a trace of concern in her eyes.

“Oh, Vegeta-sama, if he has an appetite like yours, you’ll need to take him off her and switch breasts in about half an hour, or he could hurt her,” Mulai said on her way out, making Vegeta flinch and look back at his mate’s unconscious form on the bed with huge eyes. _He had to what?!_ “Ooorrr, I could come back. How about that?” Vegeta clenched his jaw but nodded readily.  Mulai smiled thinly and walked off, making a mental note to come back in thirty-five minutes and see if he’d done it himself. He was freakishly protective of Miss Briefs.

Maybe he’d find the will somewhere in all that ego.

Vegeta sank into a chair and pulled the cart to himself, ravenously chewing through several plates of food quickly, his eyes on his son, suckling away at his sleeping mother’s breast. His eyes flicked to the clock; it had been eleven minutes already.

Fourteen minutes; he polished off the next platter of food.

Twenty-six minutes in, he wheeled the now-empty cart back into the half, casually glancing around for Mulai before standing back in the doorway, arms crossed and glaring.  

At thirty-three, minutes, he growled and gently lifted his son until Bulma’s nipple lost suction. He covered her back up and flipped Trunks, before freezing. What had that nurse done before she stuck his mouth on…uh….

Vegeta willed himself to remember and recalled the nurse having to firm up Bulma’s tiny, often flat nipple before Trunks could latch on. Awkwardly, with his eyes flicking between her breast and the door, Vegeta reached out and ran a thumb over her nipple, feeling it firm up quickly.

He’d never felt so _wrong_ , touching his unconscious mate so intimately and immediately dropped Trunks onto her chest, making sure he wouldn’t roll off by tucking the pillow under him better. He had to push the infant around some before he properly faced her breast and latched on with a grunt, suckling away with vigor again. Vegeta glared at the ceiling and waited for that dratted nurse to show her face once more.

Half an hour later, and still no nurse, Vegeta removed Trunks from Bulma’s chest and looked around. They’d not brought in that clear box on wheels yet for him to leave the brat in, so he had little choice but to hold him or leave him on the floor, or bed where he could roll and hurt himself.

Vegeta tucked Trunks back into the crook of his arm and returned to his seat by the window, waiting impatiently and silently for Bulma to wake back up.

When he fell asleep with his face pressed to the window, Mulai came in and checked Bulma’s vitals and the baby in the bare-chested Saiyan’s arms. If the bite marks on Bulma’s left nipple were any indication, her plan had worked and he’d switched the baby after half an hour. She’d peeked in the door earlier, but was too scared to face him.

He was, after all, not only preposterously muscled, but an energy-wielder. In her time at Capsule Corp, she’d seen him through the windows and on the lawn often enough, causing mayhem for Miss Briefs, despite how much she exasperatedly and affectionately trotted after him.

This was going to be one hell of a baby, in her opinion.

Vegeta stirred against the window, breath fogging it up, and she made herself scarce, slipping out and clocking out before he could round on her for her trickery.


	7. New Toys and Domestication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma gives Vegeta the new toys she's been building for him.  
> *smut and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: yes, i am aware that the gravity suit is highly unrealistic. we are writing fanfics about cartoon super mutant aliens that can do the unbelievable, do you also know that?   
> bahaha, pretend and enjoy the suspended disbelief!  
> beta'd by me, all mistakes are my own.

  **Ch6; disclaimer, yes I am well aware that the grav suit probably would rip a hole in the earth, let’s just pretend here**

* * *

 

If anyone were to walk into the living area of Capsule Corp right now, Vegeta would make sure they’d rue the day they thought the name _Briefs_ and came knocking.

It was four and a half weeks after Trunks’ birth, and the Saiyan prince had largely been left to his own devices after Bulma felt well enough to stay awake most of the day and care for their son. He’d gone back to training, but was more prone to taking breaks than ever, which both infuriated and appalled him. Why was this tiny thing capturing so much of his attention? It couldn’t even walk yet, even if it could sit up! 

If the nattering and amazement by Bulma’s mother were anything to go by, that was remarkably unusual by earth infant standards. To their apparent astonishment, Trunks had begun to drag himself around in a half-crawl earlier today. Bulma had groaned, wondering how she was going to keep him in one area once he truly began to move on his own.

As it was, Vegeta was laid out on the sofa. He’d been trying to relax after a day of pressuring himself too hard in the GR when Bulma had come in with the baby and snuggled up between his side and the back of the sofa, finding something mutually appetizing on the tv. Before long she’d fallen asleep, their son draped over Vegeta’s chest like a ragdoll, also sound asleep. His little purple head was cushioned on Vegeta’s sternum, little puffs of air tickling over his pectoral into Bulma’s slack face.

The Saiyan was mildly irritated, but also wary of moving and waking up the brat, who would start wailing instantly, which would upset the already exhausted and hare-brained Bulma.  He resigned himself to this new torture. Hell, maybe he’d even take a nap while they weren’t both being loud and obnoxious, for once. Silence had become such a rarity recently. Despite himself, his eyes grew heavy under the weight and warmth of his mate and son, their scents mingling in his nostrils.

When Vegeta jerked awake, the sun was peeking over the far horizon, lending a hazy grey to the landscape outside the glass wall beside the sofa. Bulma pursed her lips to bite back a giggle; he’d unconsciously clamped Trunks’ tiny body to his own chest when he felt the infant’s weight shift rapidly. When the prince blinked up at her, she was lifting their son—still sleeping—to drop him into his bed for a hopeful few more hours of sleep.

 _Sorry,_ she mouthed, straightening and disappearing down the hall with Trunks draped over her shoulder, limp and firmly unconscious. Vegeta sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms, yawning hugely.

“Phew, I’m glad he stayed down. Breakfast?” Bulma asked, leaning back over the arm of the sofa and pressing a kiss to her mate’s fuzzy temple. He nodded and stretched, giving her slowly awakening libido a real show as muscles pulled and danced under his taut skin.

Vegeta smirked when he saw her lick her lips with the tip of her tiny pink tongue. It had been months since their last romp, and he was feeling the familiar tug as well. The heiress bit her lower lip and looked over her shoulder, thinking hard.

“Mom can cook. Are we gonna do this?” she whispered across the space between them. Vegeta’s eyebrows shot up before snapping together with a feral look. Every solid inch of him suddenly read _absolutely._

With a girlish giggle, Bulma turned and bolted down the hall, getting caught with a choked squeal halfway and hauled over one meaty shoulder. Vegeta bit playfully into her thigh near his ear as he quietly opened and shut their door, vigilant of the sleeping infant two thin walls away.

No interruptions!

He tossed Bulma to the bed with a bounce, shredding his shorts and her nightgown with a simple twist of his wrist.

“Shhh,” he pressed fingers to her lips as a reminder and attached his own to her throat, working with teeth and tongue over her narrow jaw until his mouth met hers, earning little, broken gasps from her mouth. Her nails scraped up his scalp, fisting tightly at the back of his head as he plunged his tongue deep into her lips, tangling with hers before withdrawing to move down, lapping at her tender nipples and then further.

Her sex was still tender from having stitches removed just two weeks prior, he’d have to be gentle, despite his instincts telling him to rend and tear at her, remarking his territory. He put his mouth to her mound and ran a flat tongue over the swollen flesh, wakening sleepy nerves and tearing juddering moans from her chest. Vegeta smirked and settled on his belly between her thighs, alternately lapping and nibbling at her womanhood, plumping the clit, delving into her entrance as deep as he can before dragging back up to suck firmly on her clit again.

Bulma is biting her lips to keep from howling, tugging ruthlessly at his tuft of hair as she writhes, clamping his head between her thighs momentarily. Vegeta slides two fingers into her heat and rubs hard over the spongey spot inside and she is lost, muscles spasming over his knuckles, legs tightening and then falling open, her breath caught in her throat. He loses a few hairs in the grip of her fingers before they loosen into bliss.

Vegeta wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and crawls up Bulma’s body, lipping back over the faint brownish-tan of her bond mark as he settles his hips between her own. Her sex and thighs are drenched, but his cock is dry, and he wants to avoid hurting her still-healing channel, so he stretches up and over, reaching for the tiny bottle of lubricant she keeps in her bedside table. Before he can uncap the lid however, she’s pushing at his shoulder, muttering in half-sentences.

“No, wait, I want to—let me,” Bulma is panting as she bends over him, tongue snaking out over his tumescent erection.

They’ve done precious little of this activity; the first time, he’d come explosively after only a few minutes, much to Bulma’s glee and his own embarrassment. If he can control himself, it’s a lovely bit of foreplay.

But it’s been ages, and he’s already leaking against her tongue with a groan.

When his mate seals her plump lips over the head and sucks downward, fist rolling up to meet her mouth, he throws his head back into the pillows, trying his damnedest to not reach for her hair. It’s much easier to pull out than his own, and he can barely control himself as it is.

He wants to _ruin_ her.

Thankfully, his own sensibilities won’t let her come to harm, and he clenches his fists around the metal of her headboard instead, twisting the weak bars there until the bed shudders beneath their combined weight.

Bulma looks up with a smirk, lips still stretched around his girth, and pops off with a vulgar slurp.  He’s nice and wet now, and she kneels over him, fisting the base of his fat veiny cock until she can slide down in a smooth glide until their hips meet with a soft squelch.

It’s over embarrassingly fast; he sticks his thumb between them, against his own pelvis so that when she comes down to meet him, her clit rubs against the thick callus there ruthlessly. She’s shaking over him within a minute, and he comes with a gritty shout immediately after, biceps and fists clenching against the need to clamp her bodily to him.

She collapses onto his chest anyway, boneless and exhausted. As they each catch their breath back, he winds his arms around her and nuzzles into the space between her ear and shoulder. 

“Now I could definitely use some breakfast,” he grouses, flexing his pectoral so her head bounces slightly. She presses her upper teeth to his skin in a mock-bite and pushes up, rolling off him and yawning hugely, arms stretched above her head. Vegeta watches her step away from the bed and wrap a thin robe around her body just as they hear a piercing cry split the silence of the morning. Bulma’s shoulders drop perceptively and her Saiyan frowns.

“Perfect timing, just like someone else I know,” Bulma sighs with a fond smile tweaking up one side of her face. She leans down and captures her prince’s mouth in a claiming kiss before sauntering out and down the hall to feed their son. 

“Oh, I have something for you, don’t let me forget!” she calls out to him from the hall; Trunks has woken up dry yet again and she’s already heading to the kitchen. Curious, Vegeta digs through her clean laundry pile until he finds a pair of his training shorts and tugs them on, darting into the hall to follow her into the kitchen.

* * *

 

 

“Okay, so these are for your wrists,” Bulma and Vegeta are stood out in the middle of the courtyard between the major branches of Capsule Corp. She’s unpacking a heavily padded plastic storage bin with a series of soft terrycloth and brutal-looking metal cuffs and a thick chest plate inside. Vegeta takes the wrist cuffs and stares at them curiously as he palpates them, feeling the wires and mechanisms buried within the fabric. “Don’t worry, they’re fireproof and very durable. That’s what took so long, I had a hell of a time testing different conditions, even before Trunks came along and started eating up all my time!” Impatient with his inspecting, she stretches one and slides it over Vegeta’s fist, settling it over his flexor tendons at his wrist. He frowns at it, mind whirring, and places the other one in the same position on his right wrist.

“Okay, these are ankles,” she hands him two heavier metal cuffs that open and snap closed on a smooth hinge. She shows him how they open and close and leaves him to bend down and attach them, which he does, curiosity growing. They are thin enough that they would easily rest under his boots. He crosses his arms when she hefts the chest plate out. It looks exactly like the armor she has made him in the past and attaches around his torso in the same way. He holds it in front of him and frowns at her.

“What exactly does this armor do?” it’s the fourth time he’s asked, and each time, all he gets in response is a nervous little grin. He knows she won’t hurt him; it’s not fear that keeps him asking. She said it had to do with training. He grumbles and attaches the armor plate around his chest and shoulders, latching the closures together and looking back at his mate expectantly.

“Alright, I’m glad everything fits, at least. You’ve gotten bigger since I made the old armor, guess I’ll have to make more.” She’s muttering to herself as she pulls a small radio control box out of the tub’s padding and turns a switch. The red light blinks to green and she comes closer, leaning into Vegeta’s space so he can see the controls.

“This set of armor simulates the gravity controls in the grav room.” at his widened eyes, she smiles and waves the controller at him. “You can train outside, as long as you have the remote. I made it into a belt clip so you can attach it to your shorts, no biggie. If you clip it backwards, so the body is inside your waistband, you won’t lose it or crush it. Trust me, you _do not_ want to lose or blast this,” she sticks the controller in his face. “I have a spare, but you could be anywhere on earth. It has an intercom, so you can call me though.  But okay, so, I’ve tested it up to 400G, but it has settings up to 600. They may combust at that level, though. I don’t suggest it.” She twists a dial and steps back, and Vegeta feels his arms drop, as though they suddenly weigh several tons. The pressure on his chest is immense, but he breathes and powers through it, doing a few curls without the need for weights or other strength-training devices.

It’s amazing.

Bulma watches while he tests each limb, raising his knees to his chest, bending and twisting his torso, even lifting off the ground a few feet and drifting around the grassy area. He comes to and lands a few feet away from her, taking heavy steps back toward her until she can feel the gravity draw her down and steps back.

“Whoa, princey, you got about a ten foot bubble around you, alright? Anything closer will get sucked into that gravity real quick and will _definitely_ hurt you.”

“You are astounding, woman,” he says, waving an arm at her to indicate she should turn the controls off and let him approach. She does so with a beatific grin, pleased that he’s so enamored with his new toys. She holds her arms up and Vegeta scoops her up as quickly as the controls shut off, pressing several kisses to her face and neck while she giggles.

When he drops her back on her feet, he snatches the controls and looks them over to see how easy it will be to shut them off if he goes to max. It might come to a point soon where he tries 600G’s, and he wants a fail-safe before his limbs snap under the pressure.

“What happens if I have it too high and can’t reach the controls?” he asks, turning the remote over and over. He can’t see any such control setting and sees it as the only design flaw.

“Oh, there’s a safe word,” she takes the controls back and steps away, dialing the suit up to 300. Vegeta fights against the downward pull viciously and holds his body straight, watching her. He’s already sweating.

“Bulma,” she says, and the controls snap off instantly. There’s no cooling down on the setting, and he has to catch himself about eight feet off the ground when he soars upward from holding himself so tightly _.  It’s an easy enough word to remember_ , he thinks. And not one he says regularly, which is also a plus. “Well, here ya go, be careful. Call me on it if you get stuck!” she hands him the controls and tilts her head up for a kiss before she walks off with a smile, heading toward their son and her mother, waiting on the covered porch outside of the kitchen.

He watches her for a while and thinks about how good his lot in life has become since he accepted her offer to live here with her. It’s night and day from his previous life.

He has a real chance now, to reach his goal.

As soon as the screen door closes behind her, Vegeta soars west, heading for the badlands. He has some training to do.


End file.
